Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier Read online

  “He does seem better,” said the nurse, “but you get back to your room. Now!” I went, not because he ordered me to but so I could lie down.

  Stefan dropped back, said I needed some bed-rest but was otherwise fine, and that he was going back to his own business. I thought about asking what that was but didn’t like to pry. I was left to the mercies of the hospital staff while I waited for Dr Biswell to check me over and approve my release.

  It wasn’t like the infirmary back at the citadel. There I had top care and plenty of freedom. People thought I was a hero. Though the Malion hospital was clean enough and they knew what they were doing, all the staff seemed to think I had killed without any provocation and couldn’t be trusted to walk around.

  I checked with the nurses, Biswell wasn’t due until the afternoon. They also confirmed that the Dr Keller here was the same one who had been in Peterhaven at the citadel infirmary. I wondered about telling him what I’d seen, his notes and objects, but decided not to. He wouldn’t believe me. He hadn’t the last time. I didn’t understand why anyone would try to prove people could leave their bodies, then refuse to accept any proof.

  Feeling depressed, weak, but healthy enough, I sneaked out of the hospital. I was thinking to hide out at the guild until I was fit, which had to be by the time lessons started in a week. The hospital staff claimed to have washed me several times but the faint scent of sewage was still on me or in my nostrils.

  At the guild, during the first shower, the water ran brown. I washed head to foot twice more before I felt clean. I looked as if I hurt, bruises, scratches, and cuts all over, literally head to foot. There were bruises with the shaped edges of boot-prints and lots of half-healed cuts and scrapes on my hands. The knuckle ones were mostly from hitting others, the ones on my fingertips and palms from the reeds in the sewage ponds.

  There was the imprint of someone’s teeth in the outside of my forearm where I had slammed them across the mouth. I didn’t even know who that was. My little finger on my right hand was the most painful injury, tender from being dislocated. Damn, I was lucky.

  I put on a dressing gown and slippers, otherwise I was only wearing a bandage on one hand, strapping for that recently-dislocated finger. Tired enough to sleep for a week, I settled in front of the fire, combing my hair out, looking forward to going to bed as soon as my hair dried. As it was nearly lunchtime, I might eat first. Azrael was there and I was telling him about my adventure.

  Some guild officials arrived, with several of the gatekeepers, who kept the peace around the guild along with keeping the gates. They hustled me - still in my dressing gown - in front of a tribunal of the Military Guild’s officers, who very politely said that it had been decided that I wasn’t suitable for the Military Guild.

  A small matter of having killed three fellow-cadets and crippled some others. I nearly laughed out loud. Surely it meant I was freaking perfect?

  Sorry it was so sudden, they went on smoothly, but they hadn’t expected me back from the hospital yet. Notification was given in writing, and I was also warned I wasn’t allowed on the guild premises. I could appeal, but only in writing and not from inside the guild.

  I was being expelled? No, they said, it’s definitely not expulsion. They gave me the paperwork to show my completed two terms in good standing, allowed me into my quarters to dress, grab a coat, coin, pipe and mindweed.

  “Please send for your things, lordship, as soon as you have a place to stay or you decide to leave Malion.” Lordship, I was now, not Cadet Shawcross any more.

  Before I knew what was happening, the gatekeepers escorted me off the premises. I went quietly. It seemed sensible. I was barely able to stand unaided. Azrael tried to argue but they ignored him. They repeated that I could appeal but it was unlikely I’d get back in.

  Fuming, Azrael followed me out. My hair was still wet and I had cuts, scrapes and bruises on every visible part of me. People were staring. I was furious but wasn’t going to give the satisfaction of showing it to any of my enemies watching.

  “I’ll go to an inn,” I said, “don’t worry. I need some sleep. I’ll send for my things.”

  “This is crazy,” said Azrael, “the polis should charge the others with attempted murder. And what am I going to do without you?”

  “You’ll be fine,” I said, “and really, Azrael, I thought about it. I don’t want Indigo charged. For Theo’s sake. Because Indigo’s your grandfather’s best friend’s boy. Besides, I killed three of them and nearly killed several others. They all hang and the guild loses more pupils, I’m not going to be popular.” He half-smiled.

  “I didn’t think being popular was important to you,” he said, and I laughed.

  “Aye,” I said, “it isn’t, but I don’t really want to be hated across several kingdoms. This way I bow out gracefully and they owe me. I’ll go to the Spotted Horse first, see if they have space.”

  ****

  Chapter 7 - Reflections

  At The Spotted Horse, one of the better inns, the landlord knew who I was and shook my hand. I was half-expecting to have stones thrown at me but he said he was proud to have me as a guest. He sent several men to the guild for my luggage and my horses were put in a next-door livery stable. I’d probably send them all to Starshore. I could go there too. Azrael would be fine without me. He was going to have to be unless he wanted to give up the guild.

  It was July, midwinter and bitterly cold. As I set about convalescing again, the weather matched my mood, I felt made of ice. To my horror I sometimes dreamed of being thrown in to the moat, falling, the freezing water sucking me down, choking, struggling to get my coat off, being dragged down by the water in my boots, the sickening moment when I was sucked underwater and shot out over the drop above the dam. I’d wake with a whimper, thrashing in the bed.

  A couple of days after I left the hospital the weather broke, sunny and bright, and I felt rested enough to go for a longish ride on Magpie along the Great Eastern Highway, down the river to the settling ponds. I started my ride from where I was thrown in, the water flowing fast, full of broken ice. It seemed incredible I survived. I shuddered at the memories.

  When I rode past the influx of hot water from the palace the smell was awful. I went on, outside the Malion city walls, to where I shot over the falls, such a long drop. I couldn’t believe I lived through that either. Bailey was damn lucky too. Head-down might have been nasty. Broken neck, I was thinking, as Magpie, snorting at the pungent odours, picked his way along the shore. From the top of the bank I could see the chains of ponds still wreathed in mists leading off. I wasn’t sure which one I’d been in. It all looked different in the daytime.

  I reined Magpie away and we headed across the highway, glad to be off in clean air, into the king’s forest, the Malion Preserve, where the ground was soft enough for a good gallop as the frost didn’t penetrate much through the old-growth trees. We didn’t go too hard despite Magpie’s eagerness. I was feeling good but tired. Magpie was merely sated for the morning. Now he wasn’t getting such hard training at the guild I’d get them to lower his oats and maybe do some lunge work on a long rein to calm him down.

  We headed back in on the Great Eastern Highway, me thinking about what I should do. I made the stallion walk the last mile home, something I was taught as a child. A hot horse, allowed water and feed, would be prone to colic. It was easy for my parents to instil. If I brought my pony home hot they ordered me to walk it on a lead rope until it was cool. That was so boring I only did it the once.

  As I headed through the city gate, someone waved to me from the pavement on the other side. It was Bailey. The heir to Gyr was alone, the throne to Gyr not as contested as Sendren, and Bailey considered safe in Malion.

  “Hello,” he said as I rode up. I smiled.

  “Walking for your health?” I said. He smiled back.

  “Aye, though I’m buggered now. It was fine when I thought to walk to the gate, but I didn’t reckon with getting back.” I nodded.

 
“I’m feeling the same,” I said, “first long ride today. Longish, anyway. Want a lift back? If it’s alright for you to be seen with me?” He laughed.

  “Well,” he said, “after what I said to Indigo about this whole mess, I don’t think it matters who I’m seen with. So yes, I’d like a ride.” We doubled up and rode back to town, chatting companionably.

  The Spotted Horse was close by the guild. I offered Bailey a meal in the inn’s restaurant. My treat. Friendship was on my mind, especially if he’d finally broken his chains to Indigo Sutherland. The inn had a deserved reputation for excellent food. Even for young men used to either the Military Guild or the citadel in Peterhaven, it was up to standard and beyond. We were starving, both from exercise and the hunger that comes from a body desperate to rebuild after illness. Soup. A main course, dessert, then cheeses seemed just enough.

  “I owe you,” Bailey said. I nodded. I knew he wasn’t talking about lunch.

  “I only passed the knowledge along,” I said, rubbing at the dragon’s claw-marks on my forearm, “but I appreciate what you’re saying.” Virginia had been right, I still had numbness and tingling or strange aches and pains, but my range of movement and strength were good. He shook his head.

  “I do owe you,” he said, “you didn’t have to drag me out of the water or try to resuscitate me. Or to pass the knowledge along.” I supposed I didn’t have to, but what sort of person wouldn’t? “My father’s here to see me,” said Bailey, “I didn’t tell him about the blood. He wants to meet you. Says he’s heard about you.” I laughed.

  “My notoriety spreads?” I said. He grinned.

  “You do have a reputation, Polo. And after I told Father how you took on thirty men he’s wondering what kind of a person you are.” I winced.

  “Even though I nearly killed you?” I said. He blinked. I felt a bit embarrassed. “I don’t remember doing it.”

  “Me?” he said. “Oh, I see. No, I fell in.” He looked shamefaced for a moment. “I tried to grab someone else who was falling and went in myself. It was pretty dark, but I think it was Islington, you remember him?” I nodded.

  “I’m sorry he died,” I said, “to be honest I’m sorry any of it happened. I was just going for a walk after dinner.” Bailey made a gesture as if to say it was fair enough.

  “I think I hit my head going in,” he said, ‘next thing I remember you were calling me a bastard and carrying me about.” He looked down. “I think I died. I was looking down at my body as you carried me around, dropping me all over the place. It was funny.” He blinked as if forcing back strong emotion. “Then I was going to leave. But I saw you thumping me on the chest and forcing air into me. Next thing I came to, freezing my arse off on the bank, you throwing up beside me.” He looked back at me, in control again. “I didn’t see the rest of the fight. I only know what happened from the others who were there.” He paused. “The ones who are still alive, and even to me I can tell they’re lying.”

  “I was pretty surprised over that,” I said, “the lying, and all the deaths. I only found out the morning I came to see you. I was unconsciousness until the night before.”

  “You were out a week too?” I nodded. “Indigo says you owe him a blood debt,” he said, and I laughed.

  “He already hated me,” I said and shrugged. “I owe him nothing. What sort of an idiot doesn’t know when he’s beaten? And he really needs to learn how to block.” Bailey smiled.

  “Well,” he said, “so you know, he’s saying he’ll hire an assassin.” I nodded. “It might be hot air, Indigo has a lot of that.”

  “Hanging round Azrael,” I said, “I’ve learned to be careful. There was the time his half-brother Perry tried to kill me. Though I can’t prove that.” Bailey nodded.

  “Everyone pretty much knew,” he said, “nasty little bastard even came out to watch. Only time Young Perry’s been up before morning teatime in his life. I’m surprised Azrael’s left him in Peterhaven. Was me? I’d kill him.” I laughed.

  “Was me?” I said. “I would too.” We grinned at each other, common ground established. I shrugged again. “Azrael’s besotted with the guild and the army, always has been. Don’t think he’s paying attention to Peterhaven politics.”

  “How did he get to the guild?” said Bailey. “Last I heard Uncle Theo had banned the idea.” A waiter took our dessert plates. We both thanked him.

  “Aye,” I said, “but Uncle Theo wanted Azrael to do something for him.” I wondered if I was telling tales. I figured it was close to common knowledge. Azrael had certainly told several people in my earshot and not only those close to us. The cheese course arrived. I took a slice of cheddar and arranged it on a poppy-seed cracker.

  “I thought it might be something like that,” Bailey said, “when you’re a prince you learn never do anything for free, not for family. Not when they expect you to give your life to the kingdom. I’m happy to serve. But there have to be some things I get in return.” He paused. “By the way there’s something you should know. I can’t prove it but I’ve heard it from three separate people now, who were there when they met.” He seemed to be struggling with something. I frowned as I waited, then prompted him.

  “They?” I said.

  “I’m talking out of turn,” he said, with an apologetic smile, “it’s not easy. Basically, Indigo attacked you because Young Perry told him he could frame you for treason, so Indigo would be pardoned.” He paused again. I put down my cracker, my mouth open. The beautiful meal was congealing in my stomach. I was thinking, pardoned? They were going to frame me for some act against Theo and have me killed? “I have no idea,” Bailey was saying, “how they meant to make Perry king.” I blinked.

  “Perry king?” I repeated.

  “Aye,” he said, “Indigo was told he might have to stay out of Sendren for a while, but eventually Perry would be king. Indigo would be pardoned and given his own duchy.” He sighed. “I thought Theo’s warning would have kept Indigo in line but apparently not.”

  “Theo’s warning?” I said, repeating his words yet again, with no idea what he was talking about. “The king warned Indigo about?” Bailey spread his hands, as if it was self-evident.

  “You, of course. Said not only were you very likely to kill Indigo if he crossed you again but the king would hold Indigo responsible. He knew it wasn’t you had the problem.” I was quite stunned.

  “Theo told Indigo that?”

  “Aye,” said Bailey, “back when you first arrived. After that time in the baths. Why do you think Indigo didn’t come after you that last year at Peterhaven? Why it’s taken him six months to work the courage up to face you here? Even with a mob at his back.” Bailey sounded disapproving. I raised my eyebrows.

  “To be honest,” I said, “I thought he was scared of Azrael’s bodyguards.”

  ****

  I passed on the titbit about Young Perry claiming he’d have the throne to Azrael and the bodyguards, to do with as they saw fit. Then I went to dinner with Bailey and his father Philip Westwych, the King of Gyr, a rather pleasant man who said I should call him Philip, and that he and Gyr were in my debt.

  The next morning I spoke to Fenric again, this time about Young Perry’s determination to kill me. Fenric nodded, said it was to be expected and a lesson for me.

  “Don’t make an enemy,” he said, “unless you want a war.”

  “He was beating a defenceless animal.”

  “And you thrashed him in front of the citadel.” He held up a hand as I tried to speak. “No, stop kidding yourself, Polo. You were self-indulgent. You caught me doing your mother, you were in a mood.” I snorted at him.

  “It wasn’t. Besides, I think you’ll find my mother did you, not the other way round.” Fenric laughed and shook his head.

  “Aye, I’ll give you that.”

  “It was the day Azrael told everyone I was with Saraia,” I said, and sighed. “I tried to get away from the craziness and was mobbed by a group of enthusiastic Peterhaven citizens. I remember b
ecause that’s why Magpie was over-protective. He tried to protect me from the crowd, then from Perry.” I sighed. “Though it was about the same time as that thing with Mother. Anyway, Perry hated me the moment he saw me.” Fenric laughed. At me.

  “He hated you,” he said in a pointed tone, “because you’re Azrael’s friend. When he arrived at the citadel he was expecting Azrael dead from that dragon attack and himself to be acclaimed the heir. Instead Azrael lived, because you saved him. You’re only a convenient focus for Perry’s hatred, Polo, seeing you gave him some extra reasons to blame you for his problems.”

  ****

  Chapter 8 - Outcast

  A pile of my mail was forwarded from the guild. There was a letter from Mother with a note on the end from Father, so they were back together. They had heard about my fight and Father was proud but Mother was horrified. To my surprise Father was also sober. Not only that, he sent the blessings of the gods.

  Father sober and religious? It was a shame he hadn’t managed sobriety while I was growing up, but I supposed better late than never. Mother was doing well and they were both living in the house I saw in Peterhaven. She seemed to have given up being a farmer and Father wasn’t so militant about being a peasant any more, albeit a very educated, Military Guild graduate peasant. It was strange, as though my childhood was another country.

  In about six weeks I’d turn eighteen. My duchy steward wanted to know if I would be coming to Starshore for my full investiture as duke. Suddenly I made my mind up. That was what I wanted. I was tired of cities and mountains, very tired of people trying to kill me. I would like to see the Great Star Lake again, taste the salt air and see my castle at Port Azrael. I could take a trip along the lakeshores and visit some foreign kingdoms. I was young and should travel.